


running, running, running

by BansheeLydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9352520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BansheeLydia/pseuds/BansheeLydia
Summary: It said a lot about how far their relationship had come that all it took was Stiles on his doorstep and the words “Can we get out of here?” for Jackson to pack a bag and grab his keys.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/gifts).



Stiles stared blankly at the sign ahead of them, illuminated briefly by the Porsche’s headlights before they flashed past it.

That was the eighth town they’d passed through since setting off. Stiles couldn’t remember the name of a single one of them, couldn’t remember any of the buildings or monuments or scenery. Not that he could see much of the last one; it was 3am and the world had that eerie feeling of being completely still and completely empty. Like he and Jackson were the only two people left in the universe, isolated in the car, the outside world distant and muffled and unreachable. 

It was that feeling of being anonymous and completely untouchable that Stiles had been craving when he sought Jackson out. It said a lot about how far their relationship had come that all it took was Stiles on his doorstep and the words “Can we get out of here?” for Jackson to pack a bag and grab his keys.

Now, the road stretched ahead of them, the Porsche smoothly eating away the miles. Complete nothingness extended out on either side of them; Stiles couldn’t see where land met sky, but there was an occasional glimpse of stars between the heavy clouds. It was hot, stiflingly so, like the sky was pressing down on them, and Stiles was glad they’d taken Jackson’s car instead of his jeep; at least Jax’s my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours car had decent AC.

Stiles leaned his head back, thumping it against the seat when he thought of his jeep, images of twisted, mangled metal and broken glass and bloodied asphalt flashing through his mind.

Jackson glanced over at him, then reached over, flipping open the glove compartment. “You wanna listen to music? Aux cord’s in there.”

It was the first time either of them had spoken since getting into the car. Back in high school, Stiles never would have pegged Jackson as the patient type, but it turned out he could be when it mattered, when he knew Stiles needed time to think things over before talking about what was chewing him up inside.

Stiles shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Jackson nodded, hand moving back to the steering wheel. Stiles closed his eyes, listening to the quiet purr of the engine.

When he woke, slowly, a while later, it was to see the sunrise painting the sky red-gold. He squinted in the light, stifling a yawn as he turned his head to look at Jackson. He’d rolled the window down and had one arm resting casually on the door, the breeze ruffling his hair, his brow furrowed slightly as he focused on the road. 

Stiles was struck by the thought that he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He said after a moment, voice a little thick.

Jackson glanced over, gaze dragging over Stiles’ features before returning to the road. “You look like you needed it.”

Stiles didn’t rise to it. He was aware that he looked like shit. A few more miles passed before Stiles saw a gaudy sign for a motel and he nodded to it.

“Can we stop for a bit?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow but obliged, taking the exit. The motel was an ugly, grey, squat building with several corridors of rooms stemming from it like a spider. There was a gas station attached with a small convenience store. It looked like pretty much every motel Stiles had ever seen; tacky, cheap, old. Jackson pulled into a spot in front of the reception. As they watched, the bulbs in the V on the neon vacancy sign blinked out. 

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Jackson asked dubiously.

“I need a break.” Stiles glanced over. “And so could you. You’ve been driving for hours.”

Jackson nodded. He cut the engine and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pile of notes. He held them out. “Get us a room. I’m gonna head to the convenience store.” When Stiles glanced at the money and opened his mouth, he shook his head. “Don’t argue. You can pay me back later if you want, just take the money.”

Stiles pushed out a breath and took the bills. “How will you know which room?”

Jackson’s gaze flicked, briefly, to Stiles’ chest. “Your heartbeat.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he gave a nod and climbed out of the car. The heat had cooled off a little at nightfall, but now the sun was proud in the sky again, it was smothering. Stiles felt like he was being crushed between the sky and the hot asphalt. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and headed into the reception.

An old fan was set on the desk, slowly turning from side to side, occasionally ruffling a stack of papers. Stiles pressed the bell next to it and let the fan’s breeze cool the perspiration on his skin as he waited for a dude with long straw-colored hair to come out. Stiles asked for a twin room, placing the crisp bills onto the counter; the transaction was thankfully short and Stiles took the key, and stepped back out into the heat.

Their room was at the end of one of the long corridors, up a set of rusted stairs. There was a pay per bucket ice machine right next to it and he fed it a couple of dollars, filling up a bucket, before heading into the room.

It was small and kind of gloomy – dark green walls and carpet and curtains - but not terrible. It smelled faintly of spoiled milk and dust and the furniture consisted of two single beds with hideous paisley covers, a TV and a small table with chairs. Stiles set the bucket of ice on the table and dumped his backpack onto the bed closest to the window and door, unzipping it. He pulled out a couple of cans of soda and granola bars; he put the cans in the bucket to get cold and the bars on the table.

The bathroom was small, but brighter than the main room. The bathtub looked kinda grim, but Stiles wasn’t planning on staying long enough to use it. He used the toilet, hitting the flush with his elbow before washing his hands, and headed back out.

After a quick glance over and a grimace at the suspicious stains on the sheets, Stiles pulled them right back to the end of the bed. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan when Jackson came in, carrying a six pack of beer.

“It’s the cheap stuff.” He said, dropping his own bag onto the other bed and his car keys onto the table. “They didn’t have anything better.”

“Cheap and nasty,” Stiles replied, sitting up. “Throwback to my freshman days.”

“I wouldn’t know. I always brought my own drink.”

Stiles was almost surprised by his own grin. “Of course you did. Snob.”

Jackson flipped him the bird, but there was a smile on his own face as he turned away, putting the cans in the ice to chill. He opened his weekend bag and wordlessly tossed a pair of sleep shorts Stiles’ way. He grabbed at them, fumbling slightly. He didn’t bother asking how Jackson knew Stiles hadn’t packed anything, just stripped off his clothes and pulled the shorts on.

When he looked over, Jackson was shirtless and wearing a pair of thin flannel pants. His feet were bare, toes peeking out from the hem of his pants, and it always struck Stiles how vulnerable he looked like this. 

“You want to talk about it?”

Jackson’s voice, quiet and concerned, drew Stiles’ attention back to his face and he shrugged, sitting down cross-legged on his bed. Jackson grabbed a couple of the beers, tossing one to Stiles before sitting down on his own bed, mirroring Stiles’ posture. They faced each other, just a few feet between them, but Jackson didn’t push or say anything, waiting for Stiles to speak when he was ready.

“I just…” He picked at the tab on his can. “I don’t know why I thought things were going to be different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I just…at college, it was this shock to the system to not have to worry constantly, something I’d been doing for years. And I guess I just hoped that when I came back home after college, things would be different. That things would have calmed down. But it hasn’t. We’re right back in the middle of all this shit. Trying to stop innocent people from getting hurt, fighting for our lives, constantly fearing the worst.” Stiles paused, taking a long drink. “Is this going to be the rest of our lives?”

“You can leave.” Jackson said gently.

“I’m not leaving Scott. Never.” Stiles shook his head. “And I can’t leave my dad. He…he got hurt, Jackson. When that troll hit the jeep…when I saw he was bleeding…”

“But he’s fine. Some bruised ribs and a nasty cut, he’s probably had worse in the line of duty.” Jackson pointed out. “He’ll be fine.”

“But next time he might not be. Or it could be Scott, or Kira, or anyone and I just…I don’t know. It feels like I’m constantly terrified.”

Jackson was quiet for a moment. “How can we help?”

“There’s not really anything I can do. I’m not leaving town. I just have to deal with it, we all do.” Stiles looked down at his beer. “I guess I just needed this, to get away for a little while.”

“Okay.” Jackson paused. “Are you hungry?”

Later, after a breakfast of pizza, they lay in their beds, curtains closed and fan whirring above them. Stiles felt better just for having talked, like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, but he couldn’t sleep.

Not when Jackson was just a few feet away from him, half naked and chest rising and falling with each breath. Not with that familiar ache inside him, wanting to reach out and touch and kiss and tell Jackson exactly how he felt. But he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to make that first move, not when he was used to Jackson being the one to always go after what he wanted.

So he lay there, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides and want, hot and heady, filling the pit of his stomach, until, finally, he whispered, “Come here.”

He listened to the creak of bed springs as Jackson got up, to the soft pad of feet on the carpet, until Jackson joined him on the bed. He covered Stiles’ body with his own, weight leaning over him, and pressed his arms either side of Stiles’ head, gazing down at him.

“Is this what you want?” He asked, tone hushed, gravelly.

Stiles surged up, kissing him. Jackson’s lips were warm and dry but surprisingly soft, parting easily as he let Stiles control the kiss. Stiles slid a hand into his hair, lifting his leg to pull their bodies together, and Jackson made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, hands wandering over Stiles’ bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

When Stiles’ hands dipped beneath the waistband of his pants, though, he backed off slightly, leaning their foreheads together.

“Wait,” he murmured, and Stiles retracted his hands, stroking Jackson’s sides instead. “I don’t want our first time to be on disgusting sheets in a shitty motel.”

“Our first time?” Stiles parroted, smiling.

Jackson’s nose bumped against his jaw before he kissed just below it. “If we do this, I want you, all of you. Not just a one night stand. I want it all.”

Stiles shivered, tipping his head so their mouths met again, trying to express everything he felt in the kiss. Jackson kissed him back, sweet and slow, until Stiles’ touches grew slower and his kisses lazier, and then he wordlessly shifted to lie next to him, hand pressed low on his belly as he tucked their bodies together. His voice was soft and comforting in his ear, lulling him to sleep.

“Later, we’re going to grab something to eat, and we’re going to leave this shithole. We can go home, or we can keep driving, whatever you want. But either way, I’m with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> allirica.tumblr.com - I'm currently accepting prompts!


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